


The Blessing Way

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Robin of Sherwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series story: an ancient evil has come to Sherwood and the first thing she does is take Robin out of the battle. Stronger magic is needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Champion

In the days of the Lion spawned of the Devil's Brood  
the Hooded Man shall come to the forest.  
There he will meet Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Trees  
to be his son and do his bidding.  
The Powers of Light and Darkness shall be strong within him.  
And the guilty shall tremble.

Prophecies of Gildas

A light breeze was whispering through the trees. The loamy forest floor was soft and damp, and a mist was rising. There had been rain. Despite the miserable weather, the mood of the outlaws of Sherwood forest was buoyant. Summer was coming, and they were still alive, still harrying the Sheriff and the local nobility... still fighting.

They had wondered. Their long war against oppression had not been without defeats. All of the outlaws remembered the death of Robin of Loxley, and the year of despair that followed. After that, when Herne had chosen a new son to leave them, they seemed to have fought the sorcerer Gulnar as often as the Sheriff. In the end, it seemed they had won that battle, but at a high price. Marion had left them, to become one of the sisters at Halstead Abbey. And Robin Hood, who had once been Robert of Huntingdon, and who had wanted to marry Marion, had been sunk into broken-hearted despair. Nevertheless, the winter was over, and Robin Hood was back.

Today, the first cart, laden with silver, would leave Nottingham for London. Robin would make sure it never got there. His plan was to take them outside Sherwood: they all agreed that the protection of the trees could be sacrificed to the element of surprise. According to their informant - a friend to the outlaws who worked in Nottingham Castle - the money was to be hidden in barrels of wine.

Will Scarlet had laughed when he heard that. "Well, that's perfect, ain't it? The villagers get the money, an" we can keep the wine!"

Even Nasir had smiled then. But that had been yesterday. Today, they had to find the cart.

They knew the route it would be taking. There were only two roads to London from Nottingham, and one of then went through the forest. Robin knew they would not take the Sherwood road - that would invite robbery. So, early in the morning, before it was fully light, the outlaws gathered their weapons and made their way to the roadside.

***

The approach of a lone horse made the waiting outlaws instantly alert. They watched as the swift horse rounded the bend. The horse was white, an Arabian breed - evidently the property of someone very wealthy. It's rider, however, wore simple clothing, black and brown, no weapons, though there was a bag slung over one shoulder.

As the rider neared the stretch of road the outlaws watched, the horse slowed a little, and something fell from the rider's gloved hand. Then the horse began to gallop once more. The watching outlaws hardly noticed. Their attention was focused on the cart slowly trundling toward them.

The cart was driven by a middle-aged man, dressed as a poor merchant. He was accompanied by two other men, both of whom carried weapons but wore no armour, for that would give them away as soldiers. This "poor merchant" deception would only work if they looked like a simple merchant caravan. In the cart were perhaps ten barrels of varying sizes. The largest of them loomed above the "merchant's" head, six feet high and very heavy.

The road was empty. It was still early morning and not yet the time of year for travelling. Late spring: the weather was still stormy and the roads could be treacherous. The carter drove without speaking, his mind clearly occupied.

Watching from the sparse cover beside the road, Robin raised his longbow and took careful aim.

The carter heard the arrow sail above his head and looked up. A cascade of wine poured into his face from the pierced barrel, blinding him momentarily. Acting on reflex, he signalled the horses to a halt. He heard the shouts of his two armed companions, but still couldn't see. He smelled the wine. A thud, a scream, and silence. The carter fumbled for something to wipe his eyes.

When finally, blinkingly he looked at the scene, real fear gripped his heart. "Robin Hood..." he managed to stammer.

The giant, bearded man standing over him grinned. "No, Little John," he said. Then he caught the carter by his shirt and lifted him from the wagon.

Which was precisely when the soldier - the only one of the two still conscious - decided to be a hero. John didn't see the dagger coming until he felt it slice into his arm. He roared, whirling to crack the disguised soldier on the side of his head with his quarterstaff. The same movement knocked the carter to the ground, giving John time to examine the wound briefly.

Much was standing up in the cart. His job was to watch for soldiers, but he was having trouble looking in all directions at once. He shuffled about, turning constantly, craning his neck to see further. It looked like an odd kind of dance.

Meanwhile the others - Robin, Tuck, Scarlet and Nasir were checking the barrels just to be sure this was the right cart. Scarlet whooped with delight when he prised open one barrel to find it full to the brim with coins.

"We got it, Robin! Look at this!"

Robin glanced a t the shining hoard, grinning along with the rest. He was about to speak when...

"Robin!" It was Much.

Robin straightened, brushing blond hair out of his eyes and turning to where Much pointed. He swore under his breath. Galloping toward them was a whole platoon of blue-liveried soldiers.

They were too close for the outlaws to do anything but run. Robin gave the order, helping Much to scramble down from his vantage point. They jumped down together. Robin was on his feet again at once; Much stumbled and fell on the muddy road. Robin dragged him to his feet - no time to be gentle - and they ran together.

Suddenly the soldiers were upon them.

Shoving Much toward the cover where their friends waited, Robin drew Albion, his sword. He turned to fight.

From the top of the embankment, Nasir strung his bow and took aim.

John, seeing this, touched Nasir's arm briefly. "Naz...?"

Nasir looked at John and nodded, once. He took aim again.

Robin saw Nasir's arrow fly on the edge of his vision. It buried itself in the shield of one of the soldiers. A warning.

Some of them pulled back. It gave Robin his chance. The man he fought was distracted for an instant. Robin thrust his sword through the man's armour and into his body. Then, yanking it back, he turned and ran for the embankment. A single arrow followed him. He ducked and it missed. Nasir shot again, holing another shield. None of the soldiers tried to follow.

They had escaped with their lives once more, but they had lost the loot.

***

In the quiet chapel of Halstead Abbey, a woman knelt before the altar. She wore the pale grey habit of a novititate nun, her red hair completely concealed by the severe wimple. Her name was Marion, and she had once been the wife of Robin Hood.

Early that morning, before the outlaws of Sherwood gathered their weapons and set out, the bells of the convent woke Marion, summoning her and the other nuns to prayer. Those bells had ruled her life for several months now, ever since the terrible day when, her heart broken for the second time, she had chosen to remain in the peace of Halstead.

To reach the chapel, Marion had to cross the courtyard, where a single tree was in blossom. She had looked up at the tiny white flowers, mixed emotions flooding her as she realised it was late spring.

In the Abbey, the seasons were governed, not by nature, but by the ecclesiastical calendar. All Saints, Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Easter... Marion had forgotten - or perhaps chosen not to remember - what that meant in the world she had left behind. It was late spring. Summer was coming. The Time of the Blessing.

That memory had kept Marion in the chapel after the morning prayers were over. When she first entered the abbey she had spoken at length to Father Anselm - her confessor - about the life she had led. About Herne.

Father Anselm had explained to her, kindly and patiently, for he was a good man, that there was only one God and that her life in Sherwood was in no way compatible with His service. He had told her that Herne the Hunter was a pagan god, and therefore of Satan, and any power she thought she had witnessed was a trick: sleight of hand or false wisdom to deceive the simple, or if not then it was the Devil's work. Marion had held her tongue, sensing that he would not understand if she tried to explain the difference between Herne and the true evils she had witnessed, at Castle Beleme and at Ravenscar and in the terrifying ghost-village of Crom Cruac.

She had been sure, then, that Fr. Anselm had been... not wrong, certainly, but mistaken. She knew Herne was a force for good, and not from the devil. Nonetheless, as the weeks passed, the old priest's words came to haunt her. Marion had chosen to leave that life behind and become a nun. The conflicting passions of life in Sherwood had become too much for her. She was no longer able to love, knowing that at any time she could lose everything again. She needed the grey and peaceful life of Halstead.

Deep in her heart, Marion knew the life wasn't for her. She could ignore her past, but she couldn't reject it. Even through the grief she could remember... joy. It was the thing she was in Halstead to escape.

"...dona nobis pacem," she whispered, gazing up at the silver cross on the altar. She was a Christian and she did believe. It was simply that she believed in Herne, too. How could she not?

As if the thought had summoned him, Herne's voice was in her mind. Nothing's Forgotten... There was a torrent of images, she didn't - couldn't - understand. Then she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her chest and gasped aloud.

It would be almost an hour later when Marion was found there, lying unconscious before the altar.

***

At exactly the time Marion collapsed, the same moment Robin killed and fled after a failed robbery, in a cave beside a lake an elderly man raised his head suddenly. For more than two years he had been waiting for this sign. For a full minute, he remained still, his intense eyes staring into the darkness, then slowly, he rose and moved deeper into the cave. He lifted the antlered head-dress of Herne and placed it with shaking hands upon his head. His movements gained surety as he continued to robe himself. When he was finished

it is a god who moved purposefully to the stone altar where the silver arrow lies. Its shaft thicker than a wooden arrow and secret writing etched there, the Horned One lifts the Arrow reverently.

The god needs no torch to guide him beyond the reach of the light in the cave. Far back in the deepest part of the cavern a hidden chamber awaits. At the jagged entrance, he pauses. Only the god may enter here. He goes in.

***

"I had no choice!" Robin repeated.

John shook his head in exasperation. "I know that, Robin. But that's not the point."

"What is your point, John?" asked Scarlet. The two men were beginning to get on his nerves. John and Robin had been arguing since they got back to the safety of Sherwood, at first quietly, now loud enough to be heard in Nottingham.

John opened his mouth to shout, then closed it again and, calmer, demanded, "Have you all forgotten? Don't you know what time it is?"

Much looked at the sky. "It's still morning," he said, confused.

John smiled suddenly. "That's not what I mean, Much."

Robin said, "It's the Time of the Blessing. And I killed today. That's what John means."

His statement was followed by silence from the outlaws. They all remembered the Blessing in another year, when Guy of Gisburne's mercenaries had terrorised the villagers. Robin Hood - a different Robin Hood - had refused to break Herne's law by shedding blood in the days before the Blessing. Will Scarlet remembered, perhaps better than the others, his frustrated rage at being prevented from acting.

"Well, so what?" Scarlet said irritably. "Robin's right - we all saw it. He didn't have a choice."

But it was Robin who shook his head. "No, Scarlet. John's right. I'd like to deny it, but... I'm Herne's Son. But, John, what's done is done. I can't change it."

Above their heads, a bird burst into song.

John caught Tuck's eye for a moment. "Robin," he said then, "you should go to Herne. Perhaps the damage won't be so bad."

***

"...I remember." It is a man's voice. "Are they safe?"

The god replies, "You won the battle for them. Now there is another."

"I don't understand."

"You will. Quietly now. She is coming."

***

**Next Day**

Marion lay awake in the dark. She had hardly slept. Something terrible had happened in Sherwood, she was sure of it. And the convent walls had stopped being a shelter and become a prison.

She rose from the bed and dressed quickly. Her clothes - her nun's habit - suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. She left her room, glancing furtively around as she opened the door, and was soon outside the high, grey walls of Halstead.

There was a white mist rising from the ground. Marion shrugged and lifted her skirts as she walked - just enough to stop them dragging on the grass. She kept her head down as she walked, letting her feet carry her in whichever direction they chose. Except for one thing: she was determined not to enter Sherwood.

There came a time when she realised she was on the edge of the forest. It was full daylight by then and she had been walking for hours. She stopped, looked around for a landmark and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold when she realised where she was. She blinked back tears, unprepared for the sudden resurgence of an old grief. Well, she was here now, she thought, looking up to the rocky high ground.

Marion was being watched. The sixth sense she had developed in Sherwood would never truly leave her, and she could feel the eyes on her. Slowly, she turned, looking back into the trees. He wasn't there. She shrugged inwardly, realising she had expected to see the antlers of Herne.

Marion believed she was there for a reason. She pushed aside her memories as best she could and began to walk around, not up, the hill. She couldn't take her eyes off it. No matter how hard she tried, the memory of the last - and only - time she had been there replayed in her mind.

_"I'm asking you to live... it's meant to be. Dying is easy..."_

Then she froze. Silhouetted against the winter sky, the figure of a man stood among the rubble at the hill's summit. For a moment she thought she was imagining it. Then she wondered if she was seeing a ghost; with the thought she automatically raised a hand to make the sign of the cross. Then she saw the man move. He held a longbow in one hand. As Marion watched in growing confusion, he raised the bow, apparently with great effort, and loosed a single arrow over the trees.

Her tears were blinding. She wrenched the nun's wimple from her head to wipe her eyes, and when she could see again, she turned and fled from the memories, running deeper and deeper into the waiting forest.

***

The white ghostliness of the mist rising from Herne's lake had become a familiar sight to Robin, but he could never approach the never-still water without remembering the first time. When, as Robert of Huntingdon, an earl's son, he had been summoned by Herne, chosen in a way he still did not understand, to rescue the outlaws held captive in Wickham when Robin Hood died.

He had rejected Herne then, he remembered, too afraid to do what was asked of him. It had been for Marion he had returned... Robin's forehead creased with a familiar pain... and he had eventually earned the name of Robin Hood. Now he wondered if he was still worthy of that name. Although he had argued with John, he had known the moment the soldier died how wrong his act was. He was Herne's Son. And he had broken Herne's most sacred law.

Robin poled the raft across the lake to Herne's cave, briefly wondering how it got to the other side. He could see Herne waiting for him in the mouth of the cave. He stepped out onto the rock promontory and waited for the Horned figure to speak.

"Robin Hood," Herne intoned, his deep voice seeming to come from very far away. "There is little I can tell you. A time of trial is coming and there will be a great battle. The Champion must be without stain."

Robin's heart sank at the words. "Herne..." he tried.

"This death can be forgiven, Robin i' the Hood, but a price must be paid."

"What price?" Robin asked, dreading the answer.

The mist became even thicker and Herne's figure began to fade from Robin's sight.

"What price?" he repeated, more urgently.

"Tell me," the old man asked, "is Herne a man, or a god?"

Robin stared at him helplessly, unable to answer. To him, Herne had always seemed to be both, but the question didn't seem to permit that reply.

Herne waited, then continued cryptically, "Does the god become man, or the man become the god?" Anther pause, then, "and if one man, why not another?"

Robin shook his head in frustration. "I don't understand!"

"There will be fire," Robin heard through the cold. "The May Queen will flee to terror. The past has been released. There is darkness; you must..." But there was no more, and the antlered form of the Hunter was gone.


	2. The Challenge

Each man travels along one path  
And at the end of it, if he has the courage,  
He will meet himself and find his Power

Herne The Hunter

Marion was lost. She was lost in Sherwood Forest, with night coming on. When she finally acknowledged this, she felt quite calm. The forest held no danger for her, after all. She was hungry and very tired, but not afraid. Puzzled, yes. She hadn't thought there was any part of the forest she didn't know.

She couldn't go any further tonight. Marion began to look around for somewhere to lie down for the night. Spying a hollow, Marion moved toward it.

Something passed in front of her eyes. Marion's hands flew up to the sides of her head. Her mind was full of noise, voices babbling... then silence so sudden it was deafening. Even the trees seemed lifeless.

She sank down to the ground, exhausted. When it came, the voice was frighteningly clear.

"Marion!"

She jerked up, startled.

"Marion!" The voice sounded female; she didn't recognise it.

She closed her eyes, wondering if the forest was getting to her. Sherwood could be deadly, she knew. Herne was Lord of the Trees. Marion could remember more than one occasion when Herne's enemies had been driven mad by what they thought they saw in the night-time forest. She had never expected to feel the madness herself...

"Marion!"

Marion stood. Her face was very still. Slowly, she began to walk where the voice led.

***

**Next day, late afternoon.**

The hooded man walked through the trees. Occasionally, he stopped and knelt to examine the ground. The man wore peasant rags. There was a sword belt about his waist, but he wore neither sword nor scabbard. In his hand - a young hand, callused by hard work, but untouched by age - he held a quarter-staff. The leather hood concealed both his face and his hair.

The hooded man froze, and hid behind a tree, pressing his body flat against the bark. He waited.

Voices approaching and the footsteps of men not troubling to hide their passage. The outlaws of Sherwood.

They passed close to where the hooded man hid. When they had passed by he peered after them from his place of concealment. Moving silently - a man accustomed to forest terrain - he followed.

Will Scarlet neither saw nor heard the man. A hand snaked around his neck, covered his mouth. He was pulled backwards, away from the others. He tried to call out, but couldn't make a sound. Then he saw the man who held him.

"Not a sound." The voice from the all-concealing hood was inexplicably familiar.

Scarlet's hand went to the dagger at his belt.

"Where's Marion?" A quiet voice. It was definitely familiar.

"What?" Marion had been in Halstead since the autumn.

"Where is Marion, Will?"

"Who are you"

The hooded man pushed back his hood, just enough to allow Scarlet to see his face. "Not a sound," he repeated.

Scarlet's eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the face beneath the hood.

"Where's Marion?" he asked a third time.

"She's in Halstead Priory," Scarlet said. His voice was surprisingly steady. She went there after - "

"I know." The hooded man finally released Scarlet from his hold. "I also know it's been a long time and I can guess what you're thinking. But I need your help, Will. We don't have time for you to recover from the shock. Understand?"

Scarlet was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded, placing himself entirely in the hooded man's hands.

"Good," said the hooded man, without hesitation. "There will be a battle soon, and I have to fight it. I saw Marion yesterday. She's not in Halstead."

"Sherwood?" Scarlet asked. He was impressed by his own ability to bear up under this shock.

The hooded man nodded.

"Nasir could track her," Scarlet said.

***

It appeared to be a thriving village. There was music, coming from far away. Men, women and children milled about, ignoring her as she moved into their midst. The bright colours were incongruous: a serf village should not be able to afford such dyes. The anomaly unsettled her, but she barely noticed it on a conscious level. The crowd parted like a curtain and she saw a woman walking toward her.

The woman's appearance was striking. Her skin was dark, her hair blue-black and very long. It was styled in hundreds of tiny braids, with jewels at the end of each one. He gown was white and flowing and she seemed to move an inch above the ground, rather than on it. She smiled brilliantly as she moved toward her.

"Welcome, Marion," she said and her voice was like silver.

Marion tried, she did try to shake off her stupor.

The woman smiled with understanding. "You want to know where you are," she surmised.

Marion, unable to speak, nodded gratefully.

This place is my village," the woman told her.

But there couldn't be a village here, Marion thought, or tried to think. This place was like... was like... but the half-evoked memory drifted away before she could catch it.

"No," the woman shook her head smoothly. "That was Gulnar's illusion. He was incompetent - anchored in place. My village can be anywhere I wish. And it is as real as you command."

I? Marion wondered, confused.

"But of course. Only you can write the words to this song, Marion. You. Who are both Hunter and Hunted and who turned away from Herne."

Herne... It seemed there was something there she should remember. Marion frowned as she tried to concentrate.

The woman gestured, and Marion's head filled with clouds again. "But you've been walking so long. So far. You'll want to rest. Come, Marion. Come and rest."

Dumbly, Marion followed. The woman's words were already forgotten.

***

During the Time of the Blessing, it was traditional for the people of the villages to gather in Sherwood to celebrate. Robin Hood had joined that tradition, accepting the small risk involved in order to seal the bond between the outlaws of Sherwood and the people they believed they were fighting for. The Place of the Blessing was deep in Sherwood: a place easily found for those who knew where to look, but where they would not easily be discovered otherwise if - as had happened one year - Gisburne and his men chose to come looking.

It was to this place that the outlaws were going when the hooded man had pulled Scarlet from them. So quiet had he been that they didn't notice Scarlet's absence until they were almost there. When they did notice, Robin reacted in genuine fear. Herne had told him a price must be paid for his transgression. Surely Herne would not exact that price from his friends?

They turned back at once, Tuck sent on ahead to let the villagers know they would try to be there later. Nasir led the way, his sharp eyes looking for any sign of where Scarlet might have left them.

Eventually, he found the place and knelt to examine the ground more closely.

"What have you found, Naz?" asked John.

Nasir looked up. "A man comes," he said, clearly confused. "They left this place together."

"But we heard no struggle," Robin protested.

Nasir just shrugged. He knew what he saw. "This way."

***

Scarlet was sitting on the ground, lounging against a tree trunk. But it was the hooded man with him who captured their attention. He was armed only with a quarter-staff, but his bearing, Robin noted, was that of a man accustomed to weaponry. As they watched, he turned his head in their direction and spoke to Scarlet, presumably pointing out the outlaws' presence.

Scarlet turned and grinned at them. "You took your time," he called, as if his disappearing and being discovered in the company of a stranger was an everyday occurrence.

"Will," the hooded man reproved. They could all hear the smile.

Amazingly, Scarlet accepted the reproof without comment.

Robin stepped forward, a dry twig snapping between his foot. "Who are you?"

The hooded man raised his head. They could still see nothing of his face. "Herne's Son." He spoke firmly, as if expecting a challenge.

The challenge didn't come. The words stopped Robin in his tracks. There was a silence.

John opened his mouth, shut it again.

Then Nasir broke the silence. "Shalom," he said. Nasir was a naturally reserved man: his emotions rarely reached his face. Yet he was looking - not staring, certainly - at the hooded man with an expression of wonder.

The hooded man acknowledged him with a single word: "Nasir." He seemed to be waiting for something else.

"You know this joker?" John burst out. "Herne's Son!" The concept offended him. Herne's Son had been Robin of Loxley - Robin Hood. When Herne chose the man they now called Robin Hood to replace him, he had had to fight John before the big man would accept him. John wasn't about to accept some other stranger, even if he was Herne's protege.

"You know me, John," the hooded man told him. "Do you still like fishing?"

"Fishing" had been John's way of sneaking away to meet his woman, Meg, in Wickham.

"Why, you..." John began, and launched himself toward the hooded man.

"John!" Scarlet snapped, too late.

John stopped suddenly. The hood had fallen away from his face, revealing what Nasir, and Scarlet, already knew.

***

**Two hours Later**

"I'm relieved," admitted Robin. Then, frowning, "Then, if that's true, why are you here?"

"To fight a single battle," the hooded man said, speaking to all of them. "I don't know... my future beyond that."

"What must we do?"

The hooded man - now no longer hooded - answered slowly. "The Blessing cannot be ignored. I won't waste time fighting this evil if the crops fail anyway because the Blessing isn't given. What I have to do, I'll have to do almost alone."

"Almost?" The question came from Scarlet.

"I'll need Nasir."

Nasir nodded his agreement before anyone could speak.

"What's really going on?" Tuck asked.

The hooded man shook his head. "I wish I knew. Herne wasn't able to tell me."

"Herne..." Robin mused. "All he gave me were riddles." The frustration was evident in his voice. He stood and walked a few paces. "No answers at all. Just riddles."

"No." The hooded man stood and followed him. "Herne's riddles are usually quite simple. What did he say to you?"

Robin frowned again and closed his eyes in concentration. "Something about fire, and darkness. And... the May Queen."

"Marion!" the hooded man exclaimed. "What about Marion?"

Robin looked at him. "Is that what it means? Are you...?"

"Robin! Exactly what did Herne tell you about Marion?"

Robin tried to remember. "He said the May Queen will flee from... No, _to_ terror."

"Then she's in danger. We must find her."

***

Adam was a poacher. He wasn't poaching now, of course: not during the Time of the Blessing. He was a young man, and still had both his hands. He intended to keep them, which was why he was in Sherwood now.

Gisburne's soldiers had searched his village. It was something that happened at the Blessing Time since Gisburne had learned of the celebration. They had found no venison - the villagers weren't fools enough to keep their stolen meat in their homes - but they had found Adam's traps and a pair of rabbit skins in his hut. Fortunately for him, he wasn't in the village at the time, and had been warned on his return. So now he couldn't return - at least not until Gisburne found someone else to chase.

Adam aimed to find Robin Hood. There had been a time, some years back, when men from the villages had flocked to Robin Hood's side, to join him in his fight against the Sheriff. Adam couldn't remember why that had stopped... but he saw no reason for it not to begin again with him. He could be useful, he could. He knew how to shoot a bow. He knew Sherwood - he was a poacher, after all.

In Adam's mind he was already a daring outlaw. He imagined returning to his village - by dark, of course - with his share of the Sheriff's gold and full of stories of his exploits.

It was near dark in Sherwood. Adam realised he wasn't going to find Robin Hood today. Then a flickering light caught his eye. There! A fire in the distance.

Moving with care, Adam the Poacher made his way toward the light. As he came close, he could see figures illuminated by the flames. Flames, he now realised, which came from several fires. He was downwind: an odd smell came to him on the smoke, but it was not unpleasant and he thought nothing of it. He was too excited by the thought of finally meeting Robin Hood.

Then he stumbled. A tree root he had failed to see in the dark caught his foot and he fell headlong, letting out an involuntary cry as he hit the ground. He began to scramble to his feet when something made him freeze. He blinked. He shook his head, unable to believe the sight that met his eyes.

Five columns of fire in a circle around a clearing. But nothing was burning. There was no wood. No sound even, and a fire always crackled as any slight moisture in the fuel was released. Just flames, man-high, suspended perhaps three inches above the ground. Adam had time to take in the impossibility of this and then his frightened gaze went to the figures inside the flaming circle.

There were two people there, two women. One of them wore a long mantle of brown, in a foreign-looking style; her back to him with her hair, black and very long, spilling down her back in hundreds of jewelled braids. The other woman was very pale and very beautiful. Her chestnut hair reflected the flames.

Adam muttered a fervent prayer to Herne and slowly struggled to his feet. Taking care to be silent, he began to move away from the clearing.

But his prayer was heard by the wrong ears. "Poor, foolish dreamer," mocked the voice which echoed suddenly, shockingly, in his head.

Terrified, Adam broke into a run. He charged into the darkness, to afraid to try to be quiet. When he dared to look, he saw only darkness behind him. He slowed down in relief, then started in renewed horror. Somehow the fires were ahead of him again - as if he had only run toward them!

_Herne protect us all..._

It was his last thought.

***

"Come, Marion," the woman said. "Let us complete your education. Soon, you will be ready to wield the true power."

***

And far away, in another part of the forest, Adam's prayer to Herne was heard. The scene in the glade flashed before the eyes of the hooded man. Then he understood.

John saw him react. He reached out to touch the hooded man's arm. "What is it?" he asked tentatively.

The hooded man turned to Little John, his inner eye still fixed on the scene if horror. "It's started," he said.


	3. Herne's Son

We can all of us be gods. All of us.

Herne the Hunter

Robin looked through the leaves, appalled. It was Marion, yet it wasn't. He was reminded, however briefly, of his glimpse of her in Clun Castle when, under the enchantment of the sorcerer Gulnar she had shouted encouragement to the men fighting to the death below. He shuddered and looked away. This was worse that Clun Castle. Infinitely so. There she had merely watched. Now she was a participant.

The hooded man did not look away. He watched: every detail of the grotesque ritual. Only then did he turn to the man at his side.

They were watching from a hill above the village. It was strange: all three men knew there was no village here, yet they were looking at it, and it appeared to be a thriving community that must have been there for years.

There were things wrong: there was no stream or well, for example, and no sign of fields nearby. But none of the men could accept the truth: that there was no village here, merely the sculpting of a mistress of illusion. The hooded man might have realised the truth eventually, but the sight of Marion below, of the thing she had become, ripped his attention away from the anomaly to focus on one thing only.

"She's bewitched," Robin said, voicing all their thoughts.

"No." The hooded man spoke quietly. "Herne warned me of this. She's possessed."

Robin glanced again toward the ruined village. "By what?"

"I don't know. I don't think it matters."

"How can you say that? What can we do?" Robin knew - had known for some time - that he had lost Marion. Even so, he would never stop loving her, and the other man's apparent callousness stung him.

At that moment, they saw something else. The woman beside Marion turned her back to them, and throwing back her hood raised her arms to the sky, shouting something in some foreign language. The skin of her arms was unusually dark and her hair...

Beside Robin, Nasir sucked in his breath with a hiss. He muttered something to himself.

"What is it?" the hooded man asked quickly.

"I know her," the Saracen told them.

They moved back some distance to allow Nasir to tell his story.

"It is an old legend in my land," Nasir said. His quiet voice was heavy with memory. "She is Khanum of Chaos. There are many other names, but that is the oldest. It is said she is cursed with immortality. She seeks to overthrow the Powers, though the legends do not say why. Perhaps to end her life. My sect wanted her death. We would hear tell that she was seen... somewhere and rush to the place. When we arrived, all we found was blood. And death. The marks of her passing." It was a long speech for the usually silent man.

"The Powers?" Robin repeated, not really understanding. "Then why is she in Sherwood?"

But the hooded man knew. "Sherwood is the place of Herne's power. She's going to use Marion to overthrow Herne!"

"That's not possible!"

"I'm afraid it is. At one time only."

And then Robin realised. "The Time of the Blessing."

The eyes narrowed beneath the hood. "When Herne's power is greatest, it's also most vulnerable. Why do you think he lives as a man?"

***

It was with marked reluctance that as the day wore on, Robin accompanied he other outlaws to the Place of the Blessing in Sherwood. Nasir was not with them, but no one was likely to remark on the absence of the taciturn Saracen. None of the outlaws felt like celebrating.

The presence of danger - a danger they could do nothing to combat - left them all on edge. The appearance of the hooded man affected them all. It proved that there was something of great significance happening. And for Robin there was an added concern: he had not told the others of Herne's warning that Marion was in danger. Only the three of them: Robin, Nasir and the hooded man, knew that.

"Welcome to Herne's son," Edward announced formally, seeing them coming. "Blessed be."

"Blessed be," Robin responded automatically, moving away from Edward's attempt to engage him in conversation. He saw John move protectively to Meg's side, and wondered if the big man would be able to protect her from what might come. Much went to join the village musicians but Robin - and anyone else who cared to look - could see his heart wasn't really in the music. Recent events had been harder on Much than any of them. At times it was easy to forget her was so young.

Marion was in danger. More than a year ago, Robin had given up everything to save her from danger. He would do so again. But he was forced to be here, pretending everything was all right, while anything could be happening to her.

They could have saved her that morning. They had been there, watching. It was the hooded man who had stopped them.

"Think about it," he had insisted. "That ritual gives her enormous power. We can't withstand it. Even if we could, we daren't risk it."

Robin had interrupted then, angrily. "Daren't risk? What about Marion? We can't just walk away from this!"

"We must," the hooded man had said, and Robin had seen then what the decision was costing him. "If we attack her now, we might lose. Then Herne will have to fight tonight's battle and the Blessing won't be given. Marion is safe until tonight, whatever it looks like. Robin, she won't dare harm Marion until then. There's no one else she can use."

Robin had taken one more look at the hooded man's face and given in. He couldn't deny that the argument was sound. Now, however, in the middle of the villagers' celebration, he wished fervently they had acted sooner.

Unconsciously, a his thoughts turned to battle, his hand moved toward the sword he wore at his side. When he touched the empty scabbard, he started for a moment. Then he remembered who had the sword, and his thoughts turned to him again...

***

The hooded man walked swiftly through Sherwood, followed by Nasir. He was well armed this time, with bow and quiver, and at his waist a sword: the sword.

The two men travelled silently through the forest, both of them watching the light. The Blessing would be given after sundown: that knowledge gave them a limited amount of time.

Eventually, they reached the location of the village. Taking even more care to be silent, they crawled together toward the ridge where they could look down upon their battleground. Neither man knew what to expect from the evening. As they approached the edge both of them steeled themselves in anticipation of a horrible sight.

There was nothing there.

Nothing. No village, not even the remains of one. No people at all. Just a forest clearing, and some charred ground.

"Damn it!" the hooded man chided himself. "She must have known we would find her here." Anxiously, he looked up at the sky. "We only have a little time, Nasir. Where will they be?"

***

Music, high and clear like a flute filled her ears. She could see... oh, everything. Colours she had never dreamed existed. Everything was round, and bright, and beautiful. She knew she had been blind before. A single leaf, all the veins visible, perfectly formed, alive swam before her sight. And at the same time she could see the whole forest. She was the forest.

Moving. Quickly now. The light was going. Not much time.

The power was growing in her. It filled her, expanded her. She reached out and lifted a rock as she passed. It crumbled in her hands. She laughed. The laughter came back to her, an echo from the trees and she laughed louder.

No. No time. Move quickly. There was fear.

Foolishness. She could feel the power. A few more moments and she would be able to stop time. Or start it. Or change it. She yearned toward that power, needing it, desiring...

Stop!

But it's right there.

Later. There are many mysteries. You can explore them one at a time, or if you obey me longer, all together.

Then there is greater power. She is content to wait.

Shimmering reflecting, moving ahead. A different beauty. A memory of fear. A ghost of respect. Moving forward over the shimmering ground.

Now.

***

The hooded man stopped suddenly. He turned to Nasir. "Herne's lake!" he exclaimed. "They're at Herne's lake! It's the source of all Herne's power and...Nasir, the arrow is there!"

The light was fading rapidly now.

Both men broke into a run.

***

The music was beginning to get on his nerves. One of the villagers was playing a flute for the others to dance. The high, clear sound must carry for miles. Robin knew, as only Herne's son could know, that the god was coming, the Blessing near, but all he could think of was the battle taking place somewhere in the forest.

Scarlet was trying hard to avoid dancing with a pair of very determined village girls. He was pretending to be drunk, in the hop they'd leave him alone, but it wasn't working. He looked around for someone else, someone he could signal to rescue him.

John? No help there. John was laughing with Meg, his attention nowhere else. He picked her up, swung her round. Scarlet looked away.

Tuck? Much? They were together, with Edward of Wickham and his wife. Scarlet tried desperately to get their attention, but short of shouting, it wasn't going to work. One of the girls - he couldn't even remember their names - stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the men he was trying to signal.

Robin? But one look at the outlaw leader's despondent expression told Scarlet that his mind was elsewhere. Well, he supposed he would just have to get up and dance. Get it over with, he told himself, allowing the girl to haul him to his feet.

Then, just as Scarlet got his balance, everyone became silent. He saw the antlered figure of Herne approaching through the trees.

As one, the villagers and outlaws knelt before the forest god.

***

Nasir was first on the scene, the hooded man close behind him. They stood, highly visible, on the top of Herne's cave, momentarily transfixed by the ritual taking place before the misty lake.

There was a great deal of blood. There would be, the hooded man realised. Not only had Nasir mentioned this, but the ritual would be as opposed to the Blessing as possible. Herne forbade bloodshed at the Blessing, so, inevitably there would be blood shed here.

They began to descend to the lake. It was not Marion they had to stop, but the woman who was somehow controlling her. She was on the other side of the waters.

Nasir grimly drew an arrow from his quiver. The woman he had named Khanum of Chaos was well with in his range. He could kill her now, as he and his brothers had sworn to do many years ago.

"Not yet," the hooded man told him, guessing his intention. "Circle round. I'll protect the cave. Don't act unless I signal."

Nasir nodded, just once.

The hooded man didn't take his eyes from Marion as he carefully descended to the mouth of the cave. Although she was just a tool, he was very much afraid it was Marion he would have to fight. Or, rather, some creature in Marion's form, he told himself firmly. But it was Marion who would feel the pain.

She was dressed in a flowing robe of white, which covered her body but left her arms bare. At each wrist shone silver and at her throat a white stone seemed to glow with a light of its own.

The Khanum was shrieking incantations, the meaning of which the hooded man could only guess. Marion stood before her, facing the cave, her face impassive, waiting.

Then Marion stepped out on to the water. The woman was silent, watching. Marion moved forward slowly, but with no hesitation.

The hooded man could almost see the power in Marion as she continued her impossible walk across the water to Herne's cave. He had thought she could be stopped, physically, but instantly abandoned that plan. He must meet her on the battleground of her choosing, not his. He reached inside for the power he had found only once before in his life, and waited.

Marion had almost reached the other side. Dressed in white, the lover part of her body hidden in the perpetual mist, she seemed - and indeed was - a part of the forest power.

Breathlessly, Nasir waited. He knew why he was there, why he had been told not to act. No blood could be shed while the Blessing was yet unmade. He waited, an arrow ready on his bow, for a signal he wasn't sure would come.

An instant before Marion reached the cave, the hooded man stepped forward, blocking her way.

"No further!" he commanded.

Marion replied, her voice clear and calm, "You cannot challenge me. I was the Hunted and will become the Huntress. You have not the power to challenge."

The hooded man stood his ground. Praying that his words were true, he answered her: "I have the power. I am Herne's son and I have lain with the dead. You will not pass."

The silence was brief, but it could have been minutes. It was broken by the woman who waited on the far side of the lake.

"Herne's son!" she cried. "You will lie with the dead again."

He barely had time to blink before the blow hit him. He had fought sorcery before, but nothing had prepared him for this. What hit him was a wall of sheer force. He fell back onto the stone floor, unable to do anything else. Where was his pathetic power now?

Then he remembered Albion. Every movement was an effort, but he forced himself to draw the sword. Immediately the pressure eased and he was able to look toward Marion. Remarkably, she had not moved.

It was then that the real battle began. The hooded man could only hold his own as wave after wave of her power assaulted him. Albion helped. He used the sword as a shield, knowing the power forged in the sword was his only protection. He wanted desperately to attack, but couldn't.

And she knew he couldn't. A voice, her voice, echoed in his head: "You cannot win. Herne's son is bound by Herne's law!" Mocking. Triumphant.

The sun set.

***

Nasir waited, hearing a battle he could not understand. He knew something was happening, but so little of it was visible to him. Then he heard the hooded man's shout:

"Nasir!"

He raised his bow, took aim and let the arrow fly.

***

The hooded man saw Marion fall. Without hesitation, he dived into the lake. Albion was left behind on the rock. The water was deepest here. He was a strong swimmer, but it took him a long time to find her in the dark.

He swam to the shore, pulling Marion's motionless body after him. He dragged her on to the dry ground, feeling Nasir's strong hands helping him.

He felt for Marion's face in the near-total darkness, found her mouth and felt her breath on his hand. Only then did he give in to the weariness that overcame him.

"Nasir?"

The Saracen was beside him. "The Khanum is dead," he reported matter-of-factly. "Marion fell when she did. Is she...?"

"She's breathing," the hooded man said, the relief in his voice obvious. "Nasir, you must go back to Robin. I'll wait for Herne."

***

Not long after, the elderly man who was Herne returned to the cave. He carried a torch in one hand, the robes of the horned god in the other. At his approach, the hooded man rose, with Marion in his arms, and waited for him at the mouth of the cave.

***

The hooded man lay beside Marion in the darkness. He could barely see her in the dark. He remained there, outside the cave, until the sky above him began to grow light. As the dawn began to illuminate her face, he looked down at her in relief. The death of the Khanum must have marked the end of her power over Marion; Marion's sleeping face was as he remembered, and twice as beautiful.

Finally, he lifted her body in his arms and began to walk. Deeper and deeper into the forest he went, guided more by instinct than by his eyes. When he reached the ridge he knew would lead him to the outlaws' camp, he paused.

The soft cry of an owl reached his ears and he smiled to himself. He recognised Much's warning of an approach. He waited where he was, hi strong arms still cradling Marion tenderly and soon he saw the wiry form of Robin Hood climbing toward him, followed, somewhat slowly, by the portly figure of Friar Tuck. Only then did he kneel, to lay Marion gently on the ground.

Then he stood face to face with Robin Hood. He glanced down to where Marion still slept. "She'll be all right now," he said softly. "Take care of her, Robin."

Robin's blue eyes were troubled. "You must stay. When she wakes..."

The hooded man shook his head. "She will remember nothing. It's better that way. My time is past."

Sudden anger flashed in Robin's eyes. "Past? You can't leave her again..."

"Robin."

Two syllables, softly spoken. He sounded like Herne. When Robin was silenced, the hooded man continued, "Herne told you a price must be paid. It must be paid by all of us. I must leave. I will be back, but I don't know when. In the meantime, Marion must not be told. We both know it would destroy her."

Tuck had been silent throughout this exchange. Now he stepped forward, about to speak.

The hooded man spoke first. "Tuck. Remember me for her. I know how much you love her."

There were tears in the portly monk's eyes, but he smiled. "'Nothing's forgotten'," he quoted.

"No, Nothing's ever forgotten," the hooded man agreed. Then he turned and walked away into the trees.

Tuck knelt down beside Marion's unconscious body. "Little Flower...?" he whispered.

Robin helped him to lift her. "Come. Let's join the others."

***

A white mist floats across Herne's lake as the Hooded Man slowly poles the raft over the still waters. In the dark cave entrance, the Horned figure awaits him.

The Hooded Man steps off the raft into the small promontory. He stands before the Lord of the Trees and bows his head. The antlers bow to him in return and together the two figures: a god, a man, both legends, move slowly into the cave.

***

#### Epilogue

By the afternoon of that day, Marion felt strong enough to return to Halstead. She had expected Robin to offer to take her there, but he suggested she go with Nasir. Robin had seemed oddly subdued, as if someone had given him bad news. Marion tried to ask him if anything was wrong, but he hadn't responded. Despite her decisions, she still cared deeply for Robin.

Marion and Nasir could have reached Halstead in less than two hours on horseback, but Marion preferred to walk. The events of the past few days, though she remembered almost nothing, had nevertheless left their mark. She felt more a part of the forest than she ever had before. She knew she would not be staying in Halstead forever.

Their journey was a silent one. As they neared the edge of Sherwood, Marion suggested they stop and rest. She was in a strange mood. Nasir nodded, acceding to her suggestion, and they sat down.

"How long have I been in Sherwood?" Marion asked.

She hadn't really expected an answer, but Nasir said, "Three days, maybe four."

Her eyes widened. There was such a long gap in her memory. "It seems like yesterday..." She whispered. "Four days. And now I'm leaving again."

She glanced over her shoulder and continued, speaking mostly to herself, "The day I left Halstead, I saw... I saw Robin."

Nasir raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Marion shrugged. "I know. It couldn't have been him, I realise that. Just my mind playing tricks, maybe. But I began to remember."

Nasir indicated his interest with a tilt of his head.

Marion smiled suddenly. She had missed the silent conversation so uniquely characteristic of Nasir. He could communicate more with a raised eyebrow or a twitch of his mouth than many men could say with hours of talk.

"Everything's changed so much," Marion went on. "Suddenly I felt that Halstead is all wrong for me... but I can't go back to what I was, can I?"

Nasir's expression was carefully neutral. He couldn't answer her question.

"I was happy with Robin, Nasir. I wish... Oh, I wish we could be happy again!"

Only then did Nasir realise who she was talking about. Not Robin Hood. Robin of Loxley.

Marion's hands were twisting in her lap as she spoke. Nasir reached out and covered her hands with one of his: a rare gift for him to give.

Marion's tearful eyes met his.

Nasir's eyes held all the compassion he could feel. Just before he withdrew his hand, he said softly, "He's dead."

"I saw him, Nasir," she repeated, weeping. "A ghost, a memory... I don't know. It wasn't real."

"Marion. He is dead."

Never was a price so hard to pay.


End file.
